


Enraptured by Sin

by ShadowBiscuit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baton as a dildo, Bottom Sam, Breathplay, Burglar Dean, Jewelry, Kinky Dean, M/M, Rimming and handjobs, Rough Sex, Sam is so gay for him, Sam's into it, Security Guard Sam, Sexy Dean, Top Dean, Unrelated Winchesters, and SMUT, slight leather kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBiscuit/pseuds/ShadowBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wanted excitement in his life. He's been searching for it for years, searching for anything thrilling enough to drag him out of his boredom. And one night, at the museum he's working at, he's finally found it...in the form of a mysterious, arrogant and drop dead gorgeous thief, who's apparently really into some kinky crap.<br/>But that's just Sam's luck, really...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calm Before the Storm

 

The World of the Weird and Wonderful, most commonly known as The W, was an outstanding jewelry museum offering to display some of the most extravagant and eye-catching relics and gemstones of history. From the Roman era with Cleopatra’s exquisite accessories, to precious jewels belonging to the passengers of the evanescently glorious Titanic ship, or even the jewelry worn by Charlotte herself at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball; the three story, seamless limestone building had it all. With an awe-inspiringly grand hall with smooth, glossy granite interior to impress the many visitors, and dozens upon dozens of accordingly and dimly lit rooms serving as the bassinets of the priceless gems hiding securely behind thick glass, this particular museum was famous for its dazzling elegance and the reverent atmosphere that made the visitors feel as if they’ve stepped through a barrier in Space and Time, each room that contained another morsel of History fetching them into their world and sharing their secrets through the enigmatic whispers of the colorful jewels. It was a place of wonder and amazement, usually highly spoken of amongst those that have visited it, that have been touched by its magic, and ever since its opening, The W has only gained popularity, grown and enhanced its number of visitors per month until it became the country’s best, and most famous museum, trumping even the sophisticated art museums, even if many refused to lower themselves and admit to their loss.

And Sam Winchester had the immense luck to work at that place.

At least, he felt incredibly lucky when the job application he’s spent days perfecting got accepted by the world famous museum. It was his dream to work someplace important, do be part of something known by many, to be able to turn heads by just mentioning what he did for a living. So when the spot for a night security guard opened, Sam all but jumped at the opportunity, hoping and praying for his resume to go through and look good enough to the owners of the place. He had experience, spent a year as a bouncer in a smaller night club and five as a mall security guard—needless to say, those were the worst and most uneventful five years of his life, as he only managed to spot and catch around twelve thieves during all that time—and he was in excellent shape. For a guy who was nearing thirty with his twenty-eight years, and who spent most of his time lazing on the couch while browsing the net and job hunting, Sam was lean and, he had to say, rather handsome. Not that looks mattered as a security guard, unless you were one of those buff types who looked like they just walked out of prison, but he digressed. He had the appropriate physique, enough muscles to knock someone out if he had to, even if most didn’t show thanks to his slender body that stayed the same no matter how much he ate, and he was pretty good at running as well.

So evidently, when he got a positive response, he went back to working out with renewed enthusiasm. The small fame he’d get from the job wasn’t the only reason why he applied. Truthfully, Sam’s life has been boring. Utterly and desolately so, even though he tried to change that. He read books, went to the movies with his small but adequate and entertaining group of friends, took up going for jogs again while listening to his favorite songs and trying to appreciate the little things in life. Once he quit the job at the mall, he even joined one of his friends for a trip to Spain, where he got a nice tan, but those few enjoyable days had to come to an end at some point, and then he was back right from where he started. He didn’t have enough money to go on a vacation on his own—the state of his apartment could prove that perfectly, with the rickety furniture and low water pressure that only had hot water when it felt like it—so he tried everything else, but it just wouldn’t do. And that’s the other reason as to why he fought tooth and nail for that job, because a place like that was bound to get robbed.

True, that was an odd thing to think, to wish for. Security guards are usually there to prevent organized theft, not secretly want them to happen. Well, not Sam. He was too bored with this world to think nice and righteous thoughts. He wanted some excitement in his life, damn it, wanted to feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins as if he was in an action movie, and valuable jewelry was like a warm, juicy steak for the predators of the dark. And he did his research. Skimming through newspapers and online articles, he was pleased to note how many thieves were still running around the US, and especially in Ohio, which was perfect, as The W was situated in Cleveland. As he found out, some of these criminals even had fancy little names, especially those that operated in gangs. As if they’ve been stolen from Hollywood movies, names such as the Hoodinies, who were famous for drawing a sinister-looking owl on the walls of their targets, the Bang Gang who, as the name suggests, usually made a show out of robbing banks but always managed to retreat before the cavalry arrived, and the Scarlet Sisters, two women who left a literal bloodbath in their wake, along with many others appeared in the articles Sam read, doubling his chances of witnessing one of them in action, and pulling some cool Jackie Chan move on them. Hopefully.

Anyway, those were his expectations—working in The W while warding off evil criminals or kicking their asses before calling the cops on them. They were pretty high expectations, yes, but then again, this was the US’s unofficially most famous museum after all, so something cool had to happen sooner or later.

Now, as he stood in the empty and vast entrance hall of the edifice, after two months of starting the job, Sam wasn’t that eager and happy go lucky about this whole dealio anymore.

This job did not turn out the way he expected, and he blamed two things in particular for that. First, the security. A place like this was supposed to have very high security, Sam was aware of that, of course, but the Mission: Impossible shit that’s been set up here would probably discourage even the world’s greatest thieves to go near even the general vicinity of the building. From laser mazes to hard steel panels that automatically block all the doorways during an emergency, this museum had it all. Cameras, both hidden and conspicuous, were littering the inside and outside of the building, with built-in heat sensors. Heat fucking sensors. You could’ve given Sam a wad of dollar bills amounting up to a million dollars, but he still wouldn’t try his luck against all this security that was so advanced and over the top that he was the only guard in here, and that was simply because someone had to keep an eye on the screens showing several parts of the museum. That brings us to our second reason why this situation sucks, which was that he wasn’t allowed to move from his room. The security room was on the ground floor, next to the entrance hall, and unlike the rest of the building, there was nothing fancy or even cozy about it. The room was small, had a wide shelf with an abundance of useless crap on it on one side, and on the other was a desk with several monitors lining up against the wall, casting their sickly blue, somewhat dark turquoise glow over the single padded chair before the desk.

Sam left that room behind, screw the rules, to stretch his legs a bit, and was now pacing around the large hall, his steps unnaturally loud in the silence and echoing through the hollow interior. This wasn’t what he wanted. Hours of nothing that could rival even his time at the mall and the unproductive days he spent draped over the couch, this was so very boring he sometimes found himself contemplating just walking out the front door and having breakfast in the 24/7 diner near the museum, then coming back when his shift was over. It was rather obvious that nothing was going to happen, no matter how hard he stared at the monitors and willed them to show movement. He knew—he tried doing that until his eyes began watering and head hurting from gazing at the screens for too long.

The job that was supposed to be thrilling and worthwhile turned out to be a great big disappointment, and Sam was not at all happy about it.

“This sucks,” he sighed, his dispirited voice swallowed by the overbearing silence, and scowled around himself. The entrance hall was the only place not filled with security systems in every nook and cranny, so he could walk safely here, but even though it was nice to be up and about instead of sitting in the chair until his ass ached, the hall was too creepy. Not the polished walls or the unnecessarily high ceiling, or the darkness, but the sheer size of it, with all the empty space feeling somewhat more claustrophobic, as if he was locked in a relatively tinier place. He felt tense and edgy, like the air itself wanted to crowd in on and crush him, the huge hall so imposing he could never stay here for an extended amount of time without becoming paranoid, hearing and seeing things that weren’t there, and feeling as if something in the shadows was watching him.

Grudgingly, Sam wandered back to the depressing security room and flopped into his chair with a huff. Even unemployment was better than this. He leaned his elbows on the desk and blinked uninterestedly at the screens, some of them showing a view still as a photo, while others shifted as the camera lazily moved from side to side. He watched them for around five minutes before giving in to the temptation, and glanced at the digital clock on the desk, only to groan and lean back in exasperation. Only two in the morning, and his shifts were from 8pm to 4am. So great, he’d have to suffer through two more hours of this Hell before he could go home and sleep, which he was really needing right now. Yawning from the mere thought of sleeping in a nice and comfortable bed, Sam straightened his back and raised his arms, stretching while sounding like a baby seal calling for its mom, then tapped his fingers on the desk; however it didn’t take long for him to slump back and sink down in his chair, defeated once again by boredom.

He folded his arms, watching the monitors until he couldn’t anymore, until his eyelids felt heavier than a pregnant cow. Nodding off after several failed attempts to keep his eyes open, Sam felt more than ready to just give in and sleep during work, but instead found himself staring at the screens again as he noticed something. Or at least he thought he noticed a shape, dark and disappearing in a corner as the camera he saw it through moved, but when it went back to that side of the room, there was nothing there. Great, so now he was beginning to hallucinate too. Still, just to make sure, he kept his eyes on the screens for a while longer, but just as he thought, nothing else showed up. He was too tired to get his hopes up anyway, so this wasn’t that big of a loss, but he still did something similar to sulking as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms before going back to wasting his life sitting in this stupid chair, letting his eyes slip shut again after a moment.

He must have dozed off, because the next time he opened his eyes, a tiny red light on several of the monitors was blinking and trying to blind him. Kind of still half-asleep, Sam grunted in discomfort as he pulled himself into a normal sitting position, his muscles sore, and when he looked at the clock, he noticed he managed to sleep for one hour straight. Not bad.

Turning back his attention to the lights, he frowned and reached out to press a button that shut off the obstinate flickering. He was at a loss, since the monitors have never done this before. Did they malfunction? Or maybe, was there someone else in the building with him? That thought waking him up in record time, Sam stood up from the chair and studied the monitors closely, willing them to share their secrets with him, and as if hearing him, just as he pulled back and was about to rewind some of the tapes, the red light was back on another monitor, and this time he saw exactly why.

The form he thought was a hallucination moved with the grace and stealth of a cat, avoiding the laser and other security, not tripping any alarms, as if he was a ghost. The only thing he couldn’t fool was the heat detector—which explained the frantic red lights—as when Sam pushed another button, all the screens shifted to show colorful versions of the same images as before, only this time instead of black, the hooded figure was a green and yellow color. It stalked across a room, stopping in front of one of the glass containers, and Sam watched in wonder as it pulled out a smaller blowtorch, and then that area of the screen suddenly exploded in white and a bright pink as the person began melting the glass.

Holy crap, Sam was witnessing an actual robbery.

And he knew who this was, too. He’s read about him while he did his research on thieves. A person, most likely male, who was a real shadow, a myth. Nobody ever saw him, realized he’s emptied a bank or another place filled with valuables, only when it was too late and he was gone. No one knew how he got in or out of places, but they certainly knew he was there, thanks to the little holes he left behind. That blowtorch was what he used on anything that got in his way, melting away any and every obstacle, creating holes just large enough for an arm to fit through. The public called him the Phantom Inferno; the police called him a highly dangerous criminal who was in the top ten of their most wanted in the whole US.

And now he was here, in the flesh, finally seen by someone.

 


	2. Stealing Your Heart

 

Sam gaped at the screen for god knows how long before realizing that he was a security guard and, maybe, he shouldn’t feel fascinated and instead try to stop the Phantom from pulling off yet another flawless robbery. Still, this was pretty awesome. He could feel the sudden excitement firing up his body, last remains of tiredness expelled from him as he glanced at the door. He had to go and be the hero of the day. This was his dream—finally he’d be able to do something that got his blood pumping. Eager to jump into action, Sam planted his palms on the desk and leaned forward to get a good look at the number on the screen that was still pulsing in brilliant white where the man was melting away the glass, but that wouldn’t last long. He had to hurry. The number read 32E, which meant the room wasn’t too far from the hall. Fifth corridor, second room to the right, if he remembered correctly. But in order to get there without announcing his presence to the thief, Sam would have to shut off the security… Meaning that if he was to screw up and let the man out of his sight, he’d be able to escape without much trouble, and without even a chance of the emergency barricade system kicking into action.

Fuck it; he wasn’t going to miss this once in a lifetime chance to be cool and meet someone so famous—or should he say infamous—because of some stupid security protocols.

After pressing some buttons, flipping some switches, and deactivating security, Sam checked if he had everything on his person. He wore a standard security guard uniform—shirt and pants so dark blue they spilled into black, polished black shoes, a golden badge above his heart, and a thick belt with leather holsters for his flashlight and baton. He was supposed to wear a cap with the word SECURITY on its front but he was never much for headwear. Especially caps that flattened his hair and made it look like someone has been sucking on his head.

The monitor showing the room in which the Phantom was currently attempting to steal some gold and silver hairpins dating back to the Ming Dynasty, apparently done using the blowtorch for now, was back to a normal color; however that meant that the man was going to move on pretty soon, and Sam couldn’t afford that. He needed to hurry up, so as he wrapped his fingers around the door handle he took one last, attentive look at the screens, before ducking out of the security room and heading toward 32E.

It was dark, the smooth marble staircase he took to get to the second floor only illuminated by the pale moonlight stabbing through the eerie darkness of the building, then as he stalked down the hallway, Sam was forced to take out his flashlight as the windows gradually thinned out and disappeared, taking the only source of light with them. Tall, oriental alabaster pillars lined up the walls at appropriately long intervals, the argent beam of the flashlight glancing off the slick stones and helping pushing back the shadows in their corners. He took fast but silent steps as he neared the corridor the thief was supposed to be in, feet almost gliding along the surface of the floor, and he even tried to slow his breathing, hoping to catch the man off-guard. Sneaking up on someone while following a beam of light that practically screamed that he was here wasn’t an easy task, but Sam had faith in his ninja skills and the thief’s possible obliviousness.

Once he got close enough to the arched doorway that he began hearing the faint noises of someone moving around, Sam lowered the flashlight and turned it so it was facing downward, not wanting to give away his position. This was it. He had managed to get all this way without screwing up, and now it was time to stop hiding and confront the Phantom Inferno, see who he really was. His heart was pounding in his chest as if it wanted to be let out, and the thrill of the situation made him feel a sort of adrenaline high where he swore his senses elevated. It was like he could hear every tiny movement a hundred times better, make out the intricate shapes of the vases exhibited in the long and dark hallway, even feel the air against his skin. Taste the excitement. Wetting his suddenly dry mouth, Sam took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the flashlight, before sliding his other hand to his baton and resting his fingers on the rubber side handle, ready to pull it out if the need arose. He would have to catch the thief somehow, after all, so he would probably have to use it. Which kind of sucked because he never used a baton before, plus he wasn’t a fan of hurting people. Even when he was a bouncer, he stuck to glaring others into backing off or kicking them out without much violence. Exacting pain wasn’t one of his hobbies, but maybe here he wouldn’t have another choice.

Anyway, Sam was stalling. And the longer he waited, the more likely it was that the man would just walk out, notice him, and then make a run for it. As long as he was in the room, Sam could catch him. But in the hallway? Unless the other was a slow runner, which he doubted, Sam would have no chance at capturing him. So it was now or never. He could do this. He’s been waiting for this moment, or something like this, his whole life.

He closed his eyes, gathered his courage, then opened them and stepped into the middle of the doorway, flashlight coming up and scanning the room, before swiftly settling on the hooded form standing in front of a glass display counter.

“Stay where you are!” Sam barked warningly, training the flashlight on the figure, but the hard expression he was going for melted into momentary surprise when the man unhurriedly turned around to face him.

Under the black hooded jacket, a pair of piercing moss green eyes stared back at him in possibly the most handsome face he has ever seen. Full lips curled into a disarming smirk, and Sam’s breath hitched. The man was dressed in full black, boots, pants and jacket, gloves matching in color, and appeared to be wearing something resembling an army webbing, however the pouches along his hips were also of a pure black color. He held a necklace, the yellow chalcedony stones in it gleaming in the fulgent light of the flashlight as he opened one of the pouches and stuffed the jewelry inside, apparently unruffled by the turn of events.

He then placed his hands on the edge of the display counter behind him, leaning back with nonchalant serenity and studying Sam, mysterious eyes roaming his body before settling on his face. “Well, this is unexpected, to say the least. I didn’t think this place had a security guard.” The man’s smirk widened. “And such a pretty one at that.”

Feeling his face heat up, and cursing himself for the reaction, Sam managed to compose himself and glower at the man, ignoring the fact that the Phantom Inferno was a total hottie. “You’ve been caught red-handed, thief. There’s no talking yourself out of this, so you’ve got two options—come with me downstairs and wait until the cops get here, or resist and make me knock you out. I’m cool with both,” he stated with an authoritative tone, even though now that he was actually doing this, he was kind of starting to regret his decision. This was too real, and the man’s gaze was too penetrating, too intense.

The Phantom glanced at Sam’s hips, before cocking his head and raising a single eyebrow tauntingly. “Oh yeah? Knock me out… And how exactly are you going to do that?”

He scowled uneasily, then patted the baton at his side. “I could bludgeon you to death,” he threatened hopefully.

The man chuckled in dark amusement. “That’s cute,” he said with a hint of a sneer, pushing himself away from the counter and taking several steps toward Sam, who unconsciously backed away, only realizing his mistake when it was too late to do anything about it. “What’s wrong?” he teased, voice syrupy like sweet honey. “Where’d all the spunk go?”

Sam felt like running, and that wasn’t good. Why was he getting so intimidated all of a sudden? He was so pumped just a few minutes ago, and now… No, he had the upper hand here. He couldn’t let the other get too cocky on his high horse. “You’re the Phantom Inferno, aren’t you?” he said, ignoring the man’s remarks, and gave him a derisive look. “I’ve gotta say, you’re not even half as professional as I have expected. The media paints you as this slippery little thief, but really, you just got lucky, right? I mean, what kind of burglar forgets to check for security guards?” He scoffed. “Pathetic.”

Instead of the results he was waiting for, like a flash of anger or discomposure in the other’s eyes, the man simply shrugged. “With all the tech set up inside the building, I didn’t think there’d be need for human security, so I hadn’t bothered to look into it. But I guess I was wrong. People make mistakes, even the best of the best,” he asserted with a wink, then removed his hood, revealing sandy brown hair, and continued advancing on Sam, who this time willed his legs to turn into solid rock and stay where they were, refusing to show any more weakness. But that also meant that he’d have to stand close to someone who had the air of a untamable panther to him and, sure enough, after a few moments the thief stopped in front of him, almost in his personal space, so close the flashlight was laser-focusing on the other’s chest, only a couple of stray rays lightening the nonchalantly smiling face before him. And up so close, he could even see the man’s freckles, but Sam was not going to start admiring them, not right now. Or ever, damn it.

He gulped, hopefully not too audibly, and slowly pulled out his baton while keeping the flashlight pointed at the other, tempted, but resisting the urge to shine the light in his face to blind him. “One more step, and I will use this on you,” he informed the man as he waggled the baton warningly, but it was no use. Sam was really starting to grow frustrated, wishing he could wipe that complacent smirk off the other’s face.

“I’d much rather use it on you instead, pretty boy,” he purred in a dangerously low voice, emerald eyes gleaming like the precious stone as he raised his hands in mock defeat. “This doesn’t have to end badly for either of us.”

The suggestive look on the man’s face did _not_ make Sam’s heart skip a beat, except that it did, and unfortunately, it seemed that his moment of hesitation was exactly what the Phantom was waiting for. In less than an instant, he managed to disarm Sam, hand shooting out and snatching the baton from him, before bashing it against the side of his head so fucking hard that in the next moment, his face had a rather unfriendly meeting with the cold, sleek floor. Grunting in pain, his head throbbing and spinning, Sam tried standing back up, but only got as far as getting to his knees before the baton was brought back down on his head, knocking him back on the floor. Perfect. This was exactly what he had in mind when he set out to capture the thief. He was having so much fun, really.

He thought about throwing the flashlight at the man, but realized with a sinking feeling that it had rolled out of his grasp when he fell, and as he got on his elbows and reached for it, a heavy boot came crashing down on his hand, trampling his fingers and drawing an abrupt, pained cry from Sam. “No misbehaving, baby. We’re just getting started,” he heard the man say wickedly from above him, and he wished for a gun more than ever, just so he could shoot this asshole in the knee.

When the foot withdrew from his aching hand, Sam groaned and tried to roll on his back so he could at least kick the man, but before he could’ve even moved an inch, the other was on him, grabbing his hips and lifting them until he was kneeling.

Then he began tugging Sam’s pants off.

Letting out a somewhat—very—unmanly gasp, he pushed himself into an all fours position and tried to crawl away, and when that didn’t work, he lashed out with his hands and legs, some connecting with the other’s body in a hard blow, resulting in the man getting pissed off and shoving the heel of his palm into Sam’s back, forcing him back onto the floor. “What the fuck are you doing? Let go!” he all but shrieked in panic, squirming like a frantic worm, because holy shit, his now bare ass was in the air, his pants and underwear somehow pulled all the way down to his knees, making running away next to impossible, and there was a leather-gloved hand stroking his thigh and going up. He kind of wanted to cry, or scream, because this was terrifying…

And in a sick and twisted way, sort of exciting.

“Nope,” came the casual response from the man as he groped Sam’s ass, other hand firmly planted on his back so he wouldn’t be able to move or pull away. “I’m giving you a reward here, so you should be grateful. As the first person who saw me and now knows who I am, I’m gonna make you feel really good. Give you the best sexual experience you’ll ever have.” He chuckled into the other’s skin as he lowered his head, kissing the small of Sam’s back where his shirt had hiked up. “No need to thank me. I’ll do it with great pleasure.”

“Shit,” he cursed in exasperation, hands clenching into fists as he felt the soft kisses on his ass, and worst was, he could feel himself hardening. But it wasn’t his fault—Sam was a healthy, gay male who apparently had a secret rape fantasy going for him, and his assaulter was the hottest guy that has ever walked the earth. So yeah, he couldn’t really help it. Didn’t mean he was going to just let the Phantom do whatever he wanted with him, because he was no slut. “You goddamn lunatic, get your hands off me!” he hissed sharply, twisting his torso enough so he could reach back and grip the other’s wrist, then sank his nails in the exposed flesh between the glove and jacket’s sleeve, grinning inwardly when he heard the wince and felt the other remove his hand. Immediately, Sam got on his own hands and began crawling away, dignity be damned, but he didn’t get further than a few feet away from the man before he was grabbed by his belt and violently yanked back.

“Bad boy,” the man chided, holding the other down until he was kneeling on Sam’s legs and digging his hand right back in his spine. “Come on, I just wanna play. Don’t make me hurt you some more. I wouldn’t want to mess that pretty face of yours up. Oh, and,” he said, pausing as he leaned forward to whisper in Sam’s ear, “my name’s not lunatic. It’s Dean.”

He couldn’t care less. “I don’t give a shit—just stop touching me, you sick fuck!” he snarled, voicing his thoughts and struggling against the hold that kept him on his elbows; but couldn’t help a groan when Dean bit his ass before trailing his fingers along what was surely a nice and round bite mark, the caress of the leather bound digits sending a shiver across Sam’s body. Then as a thumb spread his cheek and something warm and wet tasted him, he cried out in a mix of surprise and reluctant pleasure. “N-No! Stop.”

Dean hummed as if considering it, then just licked him again. “Nah, don’t feel like it. Plus, just now, you did sound like you enjoyed it, so telling me to stop is really hypocritical. It’s more of an encouragement, isn’t it?” he surmised with a snicker, clicking his tongue when Sam tightened his hole defiantly, sweat already prickling the nape of his neck, and dismay making him tremble.

But he was not going to give in. “Unlike what your rapist mind might think, no does not mean yes,” he growled, trying to glare back at the man over his shoulder, but with his shaggy hair falling before his face and blocking his view, that proved to be quite a difficult task, and absolutely not as intimidating as he hoped. At least he could still see, the flashlight lying not too far from him on the floor and casting its radiant glow at somewhere around his legs, sparing Sam the discomfort of blinding him while lighting up the room a little.

“And I might believe you, but there’s some evidence suggesting otherwise. I mean if you really wouldn’t want this, you’d be at least a bit more determined to get away from me. And you certainly wouldn’t have such a pretty erection,” he observed teasingly as he reached around the other and gave his cock a brisk tug, drawing a little gasp from Sam, “standing so eagerly between your legs.”

“Shut up,” he hissed pathetically through gritted teeth, blush creeping up his neck and seeping into his cheeks. His head fell forward and he shut his eyes, willing his body to calm down, because yeah, he was starting to get hard, and that was pretty humiliating. In a situation like this, people don’t get excited. They scream and fight, especially if they happened to be freaking security guards who are in top condition. However Dean seemed to have quite the muscle on him, too, what with how he had managed to manhandle Sam to the floor and keep him there, though the aggressive use of the baton had helped him in that as well. Sam’s head was still pulsing with a dull, warm ache from it. But anyway, this was no exemplary behavior from a supposedly professional security guard, and while he knew that, blood still rushed stubbornly to his dick when he felt the stroke of the leather, and he actually had to clench his jaw to stop himself from bucking and moving after the hand when it was removed.

“Really? Is that the best you can do? Running out of snappy remarks already?” Dean scoffed tauntingly and thumbed Sam’s tense hole, prodding and massaging it, obviously trying to coax and work it open, but if he had any say in it, his entrance would stay nice and closed, thank you very much.

“You don’t deserve my witty comments, asshole,” he spat abhorrently, easing away from the annoying digit, to what he received a hard push on his back which sent him pancaking against the floor even more, his chest close to touching the surface and his back arching like a stretched bow, making it even harder to keep his hole tight, and Dean knew that. That bastard knew, and made sure to put most of his weight on the hand pressed against Sam’s back as his thumb circled the tautened entrance almost playfully, before plunging in, the digit forcing its way in and breaching the tight ring of muscle.

Humming in amusement when Sam emitted a sound close to a whimper, Dean curled and wiggled his thumb. “Funny you should say that when I’ve got my finger in your ass, sweetie,” he teased with an audible smirk in his voice, before pushing said finger further in the other, twisting his wrist until the thumb slid all the way in, and Sam bit down on his bottom lip, sinking his incisors in the flesh until it hurt, focusing on that piercing feeling instead of the one in his ass. Maybe the worst was that it didn’t even burn that much, because Dean had licked him enough to make slipping his finger in a relatively painless process. Sam’s dignity was having a hard time coping with what was going on.

He groaned in frustration, not because of something else, and pushed against the hand on his back, in vain. “Get your f-fucking finger out of…my ass,” he stammered, and it would have sounded threatening, if his voice wouldn’t have been so strained and weak, as if he had trouble getting the words out, which was kind of the case. “You’ll be charged with rape too, if-if you continue.”

Unfazed, the man rubbed the walls of Sam’s passage, the feel of the gloved thumb making his hips give a minute jerk, and he cursed himself for his body’s betraying reaction; but in the next moment and to his greatest surprise, Dean pulled out his finger and patted his ass. “There you go, it’s out. Happy?” he asked, as if he was doing Sam a big favor by not fingering him.

Ignoring the urge to snort incredulously, he let out a small sigh of relief, but when he tried to get on his hands, he found he still couldn’t. “Very. Now get your paws off me,” he grumbled, frustratedly tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear so he could look back and glare at Dean, who was smiling at him all innocently. And no matter how handsome he was, Sam still would’ve loved to punch him in the face. Repeatedly. With a chainsaw. “Come on, I’m serious!” he exclaimed in impatient exasperation, glaring at the man even though he probably didn’t appear too menacing with his ass in the air like that and all.

“I am, too. But I don’t think you’re in any position to give me commands, are you?” Dean raised his eyebrows as a clear act of mockery, the double meaning of the sentence emphasized by a long stroke of the other’s ass with his hand. The action sent a chill up and down Sam’s spine, and in any other circumstances, he would have leaned into the touch and asked for more, but as it was, he just snarled at the man, baring his teeth like a cornered animal. He even started to say something profane, curse Dean to Hell and back using such a creative assortment of words it could’ve been considered poetry, but then he suddenly felt something else against his hole, something that made his eyes widen and his breathing stop for a moment.

Something hard and round, and definitely not made of flesh.

“Wha—” he gasped, startled, his body tensing from an apprehensive shock and unease. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was panicky, he couldn’t quite mask his emotions, but how could anyone pretend to be calm and composed when they had a baton pressed against their ass?

“Having some well deserved fun, of course,” Dean stated matter-of-factly, like that was supposed to grant him permission to do whatever he wanted. Fingers all but twitching in irritation, Sam growled at the man and was about to lash out with words again, maybe thrash around a bit in hopes of getting rid of the hand holding him down with way too much ease, when the baton was abruptly shoved into him. Just like that, without any lube or even spit, or a considerate warning.

He cried out so loudly that the abrupt and wounded sound which was torn from his throat might have been a scream instead, his head falling back between his shoulders, forehead nearly hitting the floor in the process. He tried to speak, but all that came out were words of pain and curses, along with the occasional grunt of discomfort. His hips jerked frantically, trying to escape the burning feeling, but Dean’s hold on him was strong and relentless, keeping him in place even as he struggled like a frenzied animal. The baton was dry and made of rubber, so as it painstakingly slid deeper in him, his skin dragged against and clung to it, making for a rather agonizing experience. And the man wasn’t even bothered by the apparent resistance—he kept forcing the baton deeper into the other, before pulling it back a little, then pushing it back in. After a while, though, he must’ve realized that this wasn’t working out that well, because Sam felt a sudden wetness landing and trickling down his stuffed hole, Dean’s spit aiding in the thrusts as the saliva slicked up the baton, but the rubber still felt horribly uncomfortable, plus, he was getting fucked by a _baton_ , so yeah. Not that enjoyable.

“That’s it, let it in. No need to fight it, baby,” he heard the man purr from behind him, sounding like he was having the time of his life, voice deep and somewhat enticing, hypnotic, and Sam’s mouth fell open in a silent moan, followed by a ragged exhale. “See how good this is? I’ve got no intentions of hurting you, only making you feel good. So why resist?” He jabbed the baton harder into the other’s ass, twisting and turning it, thrusting the stick faster, fucking Sam with the rubbery length rougher. “Why deny yourself the pleasure I could give you?”

He kept his voice in, was able to stifle the sounds that kept trying to force their way past his lips, but as Dean upped the tempo, and as that damn baton nudged against his prostate, he couldn’t continue keeping silent anymore. Groans poured from his mouth as he rested his forehead on his wrist, his body a perfect upward sloping curve like some dog in heat, but he couldn’t help it. It hurt, obviously, but the ache paled in comparison to the thrill of having a baton up his ass and getting fucked with it by someone as hot as Dean. Plus the guy wasn’t silent either, kept telling Sam how pretty his hole was, how sexy and fuckable he looked, kept praising and encouraging him, and a strange, kinky side of him was totally relishing those audibly lustful words, sometimes even finding himself on the brink of pleading for more. The prodding sensation, along with the mix of his gradually lewder moans, Dean’s dirty talk, and the nasty sounds of the stiff length sliding in and out of his wet, opened up hole, had Sam throwing his head back and clawing at the floor, his cock throbbing with a burning need, along with his whole body. Pleasure rippled through every inch of him with each thrust, his face probably a deep shade of red by now, and his skin tingled with excitement and prickled with sweat, bursts of flames licking at his insides and firing up each and every nerve he had, all of it so fucking good he could barely fight the urge to touch himself.

Then the baton was gone, pulled out of him with a dirty sound, and Sam could literally feel air rushing in through the gaping hole his ass had become, feel it fill him in a strange way, before Dean’s tongue was back on his open entrance. He gave it a few licks and then slid it right in, the wet flesh met by virtually no resistance, Sam noticing that with embarrassment and a soft whimper. The man chuckled into his ass while wriggling the tongue inside him, rubbing and licking, kissing him, and even though Dean was a criminal, a jerk and someone who he just met, Sam couldn’t help but melt a little, eyes fluttering shut as he took a deep breath and let it out as a long, shuddery and rather pleased sigh.

Picking up on it, Dean withdrew his tongue and lapped at the other’s hole for a few more amazing moments, before kissing the cleft of his ass. “There you go. Much better now that you’re finally enjoying it, isn’t it? Much more fun,” he purred while groping Sam’s ass and fondling the flesh, drawing another moan out of him, the brazen sound followed by the realization that both of the man’s hands were on his ass. Meaning, Sam could crawl away now, could rise from his elbows and turn around, maybe kick the bastard in the dick before jumping to his feet and beat the living hell out of him. He could…but a part of him didn’t want to ruin this. Who was he kidding—all of him wanted this. He was hard as a rock, horny like a teenager, his hole was open and hungry, and Dean looked like some God sent from Heaven and above.

So when the man grabbed his hips and turned him around, laying Sam on his back before ridding him of his pants and underwear completely, his shoes learning to fly as well, he didn’t really have it in him to protest too much.

“Yep. Just as fucking gorgeous as I imagined,” Dean noted with a nod as he knelt between Sam’s spread legs, firm grips on the other’s thighs keeping him from closing them, which kinda sucked, because Sam was pitifully hard and leaking, beads of precome glistening on the head of his cock, and this obscenely open position was making his shy side want to hide, or just turn back to the previous position. That was rather embarrassing as well, yes, but at least then he didn’t have to look at Dean’s face which, by the way, was the epiphany of lust and carnal desire, and seeing it really didn’t help Sam with his blush.

He averted his eyes, his elbows starting to ache because he was still leaning on them, his chest heaving as he panted slightly, the anticipation both scaring and turning him on. Nothing happened for a long moment, but he could feel Dean’s intent eyes on him, burning a hole in his dick and rest of his body, so he knew the man was watching, marveling, leering at him, and he could’ve sworn he felt his cock harden even more just from that. Then the pause was over, and he heard fumbling, along with the tearing sound of Velcro being pulled apart. Curiosity trumping embarrassment, Sam brought his gaze back to the man and watched as he took off the webbing around his hips, setting the row of pouches on the floor and leaning forward, then thought better of it and opened one of the pouches instead, pulling out a thick golden bracelet before locking eyes with Sam, who really didn’t like the mischievous and sly look on the other’s face.

“Bet I can make you even prettier,” Dean said smokily, wicked grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and Sam’s breath got stuck in his throat as the man reached out and grabbed his wrist, snapping the bracelet on it faster than he could say presto.

“Hey!” Sam quickly pulled his hand back, his reaction a bit delayed since the bracelet was already on him. He glared at the other, hard and irate gaze only just widening that complacent jerk’s grin, then looked at the stolen bracelet now sparkling around his wrist. It was heavy on him, with ornate patterns carved into the gold, red garnet slithering along some of the serpentine lines and twinkling as he turned his hand while examining the jewelry. It was incredibly elegant and really beautiful. And also a priceless item from the museum. “Are you serious?” he asked incredulously, giving the man his best bitchface, before his expression shifted into an annoyed glare. “Take this off, right now.”

“Why should I?” Dean countered with a shrug and leaned in, suddenly hovering over Sam who tried to sit up, but was forced back by the other’s swift movement. “These are mine now, and so are you. And I like to decorate my things.”

Blinking up at the other, he snorted. “Yours? Mate, you’ve been caught in the act. Do you really think I’m going to let you walk out of here with the jewelry?” he scoffed, eyes narrowing as he fixed Dean with the most intimidating look he could muster, hoping the man would mistake the blush on his cheeks with a flush of anger. “And I’m everything but yours, you jackass. Just because you managed to undress me and shove a goddamn baton up my ass, it doesn’t mean I’m automatically yours. I’m not an object you can own, or some property; plus it’s not like you’re the first one who’s had their thumb in my ass.”

He continued to glower at Dean even as the man raised a perfect eyebrow and moved even closer to him, so much that he could feel the other’s warm breath ghost over his lips, which didn’t do wonders to his heart rate. “Oh really? So you’re saying that you’re actually a slut?” he sneered, the corner of his lips quirking up derisively. “No wonder you took that baton so nicely.”

“I’m not a slut,” Sam snapped, spitting the last word like it was a bad taste in his mouth, and pressed a hand against the other’s shoulder to shove him away, however all he achieved with that was to get his wrist grabbed, and in an instant, he was lying on the floor with his wrists pinned down on either side of his head, and with a rather lecherous-looking man gazing down at him.

“Yes,” he hissed like a venomous snake, leaning in until his plump lips were hovering over Sam’s ever so slightly parted ones, “you are. Because only sluts would give in so easily.” He smirked, dark gaze trailing down the other’s face to his mouth, then back to his eyes, and Sam held his breath, lying completely still on the floor as Dean’s lips brushed against his. “And if you think I don’t own you like I now own all these pretty little rocks, then I guess I’ll just have to show it to you. Show and prove you that you can’t resist me—because whatever I touch becomes mine.”

Sam had to roll his eyes at the nerve of this guy. “You egotistic fu—” he began condescendingly, but was interrupted as impossibly plush lips crushed against his, the rest of his hateful sentence lost in an unexpected kiss. He tried to wrench his head away, move it from side to side, but as soon as he did, Dean bit him. Making an irritated sound, he retaliated by sinking his own teeth in the other’s lip, but that unfortunately had the opposite effect, just turning the man more feral, and the kiss more violent. Dean shoved his tongue in Sam’s mouth and down his fucking throat, pressing the back of his head into the hard floor as he just kept taking and taking, licking into him and moving his lips in ardent passion, fingers tightening around Sam’s wrist until the iron grip caused him pain. Unrelenting and zealous, the man drowned him in the scorching hot kiss, and even though he writhed when he remembered, Sam was mostly busy kissing back, it just being too good to let up, to resist. And it sucked, because it meant that Dean was totally right and saying no to him was virtually not possible, but he chose not to think about that for now and instead let the fervent kiss turn his mind blank.

He closed his eyes and moaned softly, sliding his tongue alongside the other’s and kissing him just as hard, his cock twitching and throbbing longingly between his legs as Sam got even more turned on from just a kiss. In all honesty, he would have liked to wrap his arms around the other’s neck and pull him into the kiss even more, but with his wrists feeling like they were being crushed under heavy weights, he couldn’t do any of this. Which was probably for the better, because getting all eager when he was really supposed to be protesting here was not acceptable. Didn’t quite stop him from spreading his legs and sort of humping the air while whimpering as Dean tongue fucked his mouth, but hey, it’s the thought that counts. He would go back to fighting the other…soon. After they’re done kissing.

Licking his lips and blinking in slight disorientation, Sam panted against the other’s smug smile as Dean broke the kiss and gave him an irritatingly pointed look, as if he was laughing at him. And Sam didn’t doubt for a second that the man was doing just that in his head. “Told you,” he purred, kissing and nibbling Sam’s chin before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “You want me.”

A surge of arousal burst in his chest and spread through his body, Sam’s breath hitching and pulse skyrocketing as those deep, whiskey smooth and lustful words were whispered into his ear, which the man then proceeded to lick, suckling on his earlobe until he couldn’t help but tilt his head back with a quiet moan. “I…I don’t,” he protested, but it sounded more like a whine, pitiful instead of resolute, and when Dean’s teeth found their way to his neck and bit him, Sam almost mewled.

Okay, no, he definitely mewled like the slut Dean accused him of being.

“Sure, baby. Sure,” the man said with a mocking parody of acknowledgement, then after licking along the other’s jawline and sending an electric shiver down his spine, Dean pulled back and sat on his knees between Sam’s legs. He heard the sound of another pouch being opened and the jingling of jewelry, but was still a bit out of it to get on his elbows and look, as if that kiss had drained all of the strength from his limbs. And when he felt like he had regained enough of it to at least strain his neck and get a look at what the other was doing, it was already too late, for Dean was attaching even more jewelry to him, and again, Sam was too slow to stop him.

Forcing himself to sit up, supporting himself with his hands behind his back, Sam glanced at his left ankle, which now had a heavy and thick silver anklet around it. He remembered it as part of the Indian History section, a Sindhi anklet with slanted stripes digging trenches along the pale silvery surface, and small bells hanging from hoops on the bottom and making a tiny tinkling sound when he moved his leg. He studied it for a moment, frowning at it, but when it refused to erase itself from existence or crawl off his ankle, he glowered at Dean instead.

“Seriously?” He gave the man a questioning and rather unamused look. “This is pathetic, I hope you know that.”

“What’s pathetic in me giving you presents? Others would be bouncing up and down happily if they got such precious jewelry,” Dean remarked with a fake pout, as if Sam was some ungrateful wife who didn’t appreciate the man’s efforts at spoiling him.

He raised his eyebrows, incredulous as to what he was hearing. “Oh, you mean the precious jewelry which you stole from the very museum we’re still in? Jewelry that I’m guarding?” Sam shook his head with a dry chuckle. “You don’t give a security guard things he’s supposed to be looking after, just like you don’t give weed to a policeman. And as I’m sure I’ve already told you, these aren’t yours, so you can’t give them away as gifts.”

“Yes I can,” Dean insisted, and Sam groaned. It was like he was talking to a brick wall. A narcissistic, frustratingly obstinate brick wall. “I don’t live by the rules set by society, or the government, or anyone else. I don’t care about the ‘supposed to’ or ‘should’, because I’m my own man, and so if I want to put jewelry on you that I stole less than an hour ago, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And anyway…” He trailed off, gliding the back of a gloved finger down the inside of Sam’s thigh and making him draw in an uneven breath, and winked. “It’s finders keepers.”

Before he could have even hoped to react, or think of a degrading response, Sam was gasping, wide eyes focusing on the man who just, without any warning, lowered his head and all but swallowed his cock down. “Oh fuck!” Sam cried in a mix of a moan and a gasp, mouth falling open as he watched Dean bobbing his head, immediately sucking him off without wasting a moment, working his throat around Sam’s cock while keeping his legs open with gloved fingers digging into his thighs.

And if he thought the kiss was amazing, then this was simply out of this world.

Dean was sucking him vehemently, dragging his tongue along the other’s length and rubbing it against the slit, cheeks hollowed for maximum suction and teeth occasionally grazing against the smooth and sensitive skin. He was humming enthusiastically, swallowing around Sam and taking him down with surprising ease, but no matter how skillful he appeared to be, when Sam’s hips bucked in unstoppable pleasure and drove his cock all the way into the other’s mouth, Dean’s throat convulsed and he gagged a bit, pulling back for air and licking his lips, before flashing a cocky smile at Sam.

“Impatient much?” he taunted, snorting in conceited amusement, and gave the head of the other’s hard cock a lick with the tip of his tongue, causing his hips to jerk.

“Y-You wish,” Sam denied the accusation with a ridiculing grimace, then all expressions of rebellious disdain dissipated from his face as Dean wrapped a hand around his erection and gave it a few slow strokes while sucking his balls in his mouth and playing them with his tongue. “Stop, s-stop it, you bastard,” he protested weakly, cursing and moaning as the other jerked him off all the while nibbling and suckling on his balls. Dean was watching him, too, that asshole, probably curious of his reaction, the man’s sultry eyes dark from want, from desire, and bewitching, having a playful little glint in them. Unable to take the penetrating gaze of those emerald orbs, Sam averted his eyes and laid back, the strength to keep himself upright leaving him yet again, and grasped his hair with one hand while clutching his uniform shirt with the other, trembling slightly and writhing sensually.

He was telling Dean to stop, but really, he never wanted it to end. The hand on his dick felt way too good, though he supposed that was partly because of the leather, the way the gloved fingers caressed and slid alongside his skin, thumbed his slit or massaged his flesh sending waves of pure rapture through him and filling him with warmth, feeling as if he had a sun burning in him, melting his insides and lighting his nerves on fire, until he all but buzzed with a heated passion. And then there was the man’s mouth, ravishing his skin, the avid attention his balls were receiving making Sam arch his back and curl his toes, his hips rolling tentatively and wordlessly urging Dean on. A part of Sam’s brain was utterly baffled and kept shouting at him, pointing out how he was lying on the museum floor and getting a handjob from a notorious thief, a criminal, someone he just met, and keening wasn’t exactly the appropriate reaction here, but Sam did an excellent job at ignoring that voice and slamming an imaginary door in its face, muffling its outraged yells.

He was close to coming, and only barely even five minutes have passed since the man began working on his cock. He knew his orgasm could pounce on him any moment now, but it seemed that Dean had realized it as well, and he on the other hand wasn’t as eager to let Sam experience release yet. Abruptly, way too suddenly, the hand and the mouth vanished from his skin, and Sam pretty much felt like the air got punched out of his lungs. He made a somewhat wounded sound at the loss of sensations and opened his eyes he hadn’t remembered closing, before sluggishly pushing himself up onto his elbows and giving the other a half-lidded stare.

It took him approximately three seconds to realize what was happening, and as soon as he did, he immediately shot up into a sitting position and growled, grabbing Dean’s wrist holding the cuff bracelet. “No,” he panted, glaring at the other, who was just smirking charmingly at him.

“Come on, it’ll look so beautiful on you,” Dean purred temptingly, trailing the fingers of his free hand up and down Sam’s aching cock and making him gasp and shiver despite his efforts to keep it together.

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head. “No. You’re not putting any more things on me, and especially not there,” he hissed authoritatively, the defiant fire in his eyes and the intensity of his glare flickering as Dean gave his cock a delicious squeeze.

“Don’t worry, it won’t bite you or anything,” the man coaxed persistently, beginning to pump Sam’s cock, the distracting feeling weakening his grip on Dean’s wrist. “It’ll just make you exotic and sexy.”

“How would th-that even… Dean, no,” he whined with a small moan, his eyes slipping shut and head falling back as the other stroked him harder and faster, Sam so fucking close now, his hips bucking wildly, thrusting into Dean’s incredible hand, more and more curses and whimpers pouring from his lips and—

He gasped sharply, hissing when the cold bracelet was suddenly forced onto his cock, the edges of the narrow gap in the cuff jewelry grazing painfully against his skin. A horrible pressure appeared around the base of his dick, squeezing him and preventing him from coming, plus the piercing cool interior of the bracelet snapped him out of his lust-induced daze and sent a not-so-pleasant shiver through his body, instantly calming his raging erection and taking it down a notch.

“There. See, not that bad, right?” Dean chuckled as Sam gaped at his cock, then groaned, “Fuck, you really look so hot like this.”

Sam blinked, lips twisted in some sort of an absolutely embarrassed version of a snarl as he looked at the cuff bracelet clutching his dick. Uncomfortably tight around him, it was made of gold and had several holes in it, some larger than others, and inside each hole was something resembling a spider web, a complex and at first glance random set of thinner golden lines meeting in the middle, where sat snugly a dark aquamarine gem. It was a lovely, fancy piece of jewelry fit for Empresses, a bracelet that would’ve looked much better on a woman’s wrist than his goddamn cock.

Raising his nettled gaze at Dean, who appeared to be in the middle of marveling at the sight of Sam’s decorated erection, he tsked and frowned in slight mortification as he reached out and took a hold of the bracelet, attempting to pull it off without causing himself too much pain, but his hand was promptly swatted away by a displeased Dean. “Oh come on!” he exclaimed in great annoyance. “This is too much. You can’t honestly believe I’ll let this thing stay on me.”

“Why not?” the man said with a cajoling smirk, swiftly pressing a kiss on Sam’s cheek and making him blink in flustered surprise, before licking the seam of his lips. “Do you even have any idea how alluring you are in these?” he mumbled against the other’s lips desirously. “How inviting? How horny just looking at you makes me feel, makes me wanna fuck you until you can’t stand or move anymore? Wanna have you in every single way, baby.”

Sam inhaled shakily, his tongue snaking out instinctively to lick his lips, and got the urge to kiss the man, but instead of acting on his impulse, he lowered his eyes in something similar to sheepishness. “You’re just a pervert. Jerk,” he muttered almost sulkily, feeling even worse when he heard the other’s low and beautiful laugh, then looked back at him as Dean began unbuttoning his shirt, Sam watching as the skillful fingers popped each button open, not even attempting to slap the man’s hands away. He did struggle halfheartedly, pulling away once or twice, but aside from that, didn’t do much. There was no point in resisting, not anymore, as it was pretty clear by now that both of them wanted this.

Once Dean rid him of his shirt and Sam was fully naked, though, he was starting to have some second thoughts, because what he was doing here could very well get him fired.

“You fuck all of your witnesses?” he sneered a little bitterly as Dean laid a hand on his chest and pushed him down.

The man scowled for a second, then kissed his chin. “Nope. Only the pretty ones,” he teased with a wink, and then left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Sam’s neck before nipping along his collarbone.

Trying not to think how he was the only person who ever found out Dean’s identity, which meant the man considered him pretty—okay, that didn’t really come as a surprise as the guy has been telling him that nonstop, but yeah—Sam concentrated on the licks and the kisses, mind soon turning pleasantly blank under the greedy touches. Dean tasted every inch of his skin, setting it on fire wherever he placed a kiss and brushed his fingers, making Sam lean into every touch with abandon. He moaned wantonly and emitted miserably whimpers as the other lapped and then suckled at his nipples, tugging at them with his teeth or rolling them between gloved fingers, the same fingers that stroked his sides and dipped in his ribs, groping and touching; as Dean kissed down his chest and stomach, then nibbled on his navel before kissing back up, Sam whining when he tried to hump the man’s neck or something, but was denied any friction whatsoever, which made him pretty desperate. Grasping the other’s short hair, he yanked Dean into a harsh and maybe a bit sloppy kiss, with lots of needy tongue and teeth, licking into his mouth and clutching the back of his jacket, and moaning delightedly as the man returned the kiss with even more fervor, turning it hard and demanding, Sam literally shaking in elation as Dean growled.

“Fuck,” the man breathed somewhat hoarsely, planting a few quick kisses on Sam’s lips before pulling back and leering down at him, looking like a fucking animal just starving for some meat, and for a brief moment, Sam wondered if it was possible to come from just looking at someone, because he certainly felt like it. “I’m gonna rock your world, sweetheart,” he declared with a nasty, lascivious grin, then was gone again, fumbling with the pouches, and Sam really hoped Dean had some lube hidden in there because he knew, just knew that the other was big. Had to be, with that cocksure attitude of his.

He stayed silent, just panting and hoping to catch his breath on the floor while Dean looked for…whatever it is he was looking for, Sam didn’t care right now. The man could pull a freaking rabbit out of one of those pouches and present it to him, and he wouldn’t give a crap, because he was too busy feeling all euphoric and rather lucky, as even for someone as good-looking as him, it wasn’t everyday he got to hook up with a hottie who was probably the man of his dreams. Well, minus the arrogance. That Sam could do without.

When Dean finally came back into view, he was not, as hoped, holding a neat little bottle of lube in his hands. “Bend forward a bit so I can put these on you, baby,” he told Sam, smiling all proudly and gleefully as he held the jewelry before him, clearly eager to see him in them.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t looking forward to wearing them at all.

In one of Dean’s hands hung a necklace, one he recognized right away. It was hard not to—that royal necklace was one of the most important jewelry recovered from Cleopatra’s time. It was a thick gold necklace, hard and round like an oversized ring, with sharp golden leaves lining up along the outside, covering most of the jewelry, except the front, which had a large, and slightly oval carnelian gem in it surrounded by a round golden frame. Sam gave it a good glare, not the least bit pleased that Dean had managed to steal that one as well and was now planning on making him wear it, then glanced at the man’s other hand, which held a crown. A fucking crown. Golden, again, of course, it was a wreath of laurel leaves facing up and down, with a line of what appeared to be gold decorative coins hanging from both sides, like dangling earlobes, only to meet at the back of the wreath and merge together. An Etruscan gold wreath recovered from a burial of an Odrysian aristocrat. Sam had no idea how that thing fit in a pouch, but right now he was more concerned about what Dean was planning to do with it than anything else.

“You must be joking,” he said with hopeful incredulity as he once again got back onto his elbows, shifting his annoyed gaze at Dean, and frowned somewhat warningly. “You ain’t putting those on me. Hell no.”

The man gave him a pointed look, like one you’d give a child lying about stealing from the cookie jar. “We both know that I will. So why don’t you spare me the trouble of holding you down and just stay still while I turn you into my dazzling queen?” he advised with a cocky and slightly roguish smirk, and placed the crown on the floor, holding the necklace in his hands invitingly.

Sam eyed the heavy-looking golden, massive choker for a while, then sighed and pulled an irked face as he bared his neck in defeat. He was stark naked and lying on the cold floor with his legs spread and hard cock enclosed in a fucking cuff bracelet—his manliness and dignity were already in shambles, anyway, so what difference would wearing some more jewelry make?

Looking pleased, Dean opened the clasp of the necklace and put the solid jewelry around the other’s neck, then after fastening it, he picked up the crown and placed it on Sam’s head, wearing a satisfied and mesmerized grin when he leaned back to take in the surely embarrassing and humiliating sight that Sam was. “Only the best for you,” the man said with a little chuckle, before licking his lips and stroking the other’s knees. “So magnificent. You’re so gorgeous, clad in gold like that. Like a precious treasure.” His eyes darkened. “Better than anything I’ve ever stolen.”

He would have liked to believe that he wasn’t blushing madly, but he totally was. “You sure do love the sound of your voice, don’t you?” Sam mumbled, looking anywhere but the other as he raised a hand to his throat, trailing a finger along the uneven leaves on it. It was a prominent weight on his neck, making him wonder if it was made of solid gold, and cold against his skin, hugging it maybe a bit too tightly and making him curl a finger under the necklace so as to release some pressure, in vain. The gem at the front of the jewelry was smooth to the touch, and the small, thin coins hanging from his wreath jingled faintly as he ran his hand along them, the crown fitting him surprisingly well, almost as if it was made for him.

Letting his hand fall back on the floor, Sam looked back at the man just in time to see him fumble with his pants and unzip it. He swallowed thickly as his mouth watered at the sight of Dean’s cock when it was released from its confinement, unable to rip his gaze from the hard and sizable flesh, his breathing immediately picking up from excitement, and the anticipation of having that monster in him. It looked so delicious, too, surely warm and big enough to have Sam choking without needing to deepthroat the other, his chest feeling tight and body trembling from the sheer amount of thrill and arousal coursing through him from just seeing the man’s cock, his own straining against the stupid bracelet around it as it twitched in interest.

“See somethin’ you like?” Dean’s purring and husky voice snapped him out of his reverie and had him blinking up at the man, lips suddenly dry.

He flushed the color of a nice and ripe tomato and scoffed unconvincingly. “Not that impressive. I’ve seen bigger,” he lied with a twitchy smile, actually worried it might not fit, because admittedly, he had a baton up his ass a few minutes ago, but that sure as hell didn’t stretch him wide enough for that… _thing_ Dean had standing proudly between his legs.

Dean grinned at his horrible attempt at deceit, before leaning forward and hovering over him, hands on either side of his chest and face close enough to kiss. “You’ll be saying otherwise when I’ve got my fat cock ravaging your ass, making you scream loud enough to shatter glass,” he whispered promisingly and bit Sam’s lower lip, then spit into his palm and reached down to slick up his length, before nudging the warm and hard head of it against the other’s hole, making him inhale raggedly.

“As if…” he whispered back almost tauntingly, lowering himself and taking another deep breath as he lay on the floor, hole clenching and unclenching nervously, and then Sam braced himself, the only warning he got being a low and lascivious chuckle before Dean was slowly pushing into him, thick head forcing its way past his tight entrance. “O-Oh god…!” he gasped and whimpered, and Dean cursed, beginning to move his hips and barely waiting until the head of his cock was inside before thrusting and getting more and more of himself in Sam, who was having a hard time keeping it down. Or staying still.

“Fuck. Shit, fuck, you’re so fucking tight, baby,” Dean groaned, emphasizing each word with a forceful thrust and drawing a cry from the other. His arms were hooked around Sam’s knees, gripping his waist and keeping him in place as he fucked into him, hips snapping forward rather violently, and ow. It hurt. Sam was clawing helplessly at the floor, whimpering and gasping miserably, trying to relax around the intrusion, but damn it, the man was too big. He babbled something incoherent, probably begging Dean to stop, to pull out because it hurt, because he felt like he was going to tear, all the while writhing and throwing his head from side to side, the jingles of the coins and the little bells on his anklet as his legs swung in the air with the force the other fucked into him barely even audible over his pitiful yowling.

He panted heavily when Dean finally stopped, now all the way inside him, thankfully giving him a few moments to relax around the thick cock stuffing him like a Christmas turkey, Sam never feeling so very full as now, with the man inside him. He felt so real and alive, hot and pulsing in his ass, stretching him open until not only his hole, but his whole body was burning from pain and pleasure, because yeah, the prodding, piercing feeling wasn’t that enjoyable, but the knowledge that he had something so enormous in him, that he was going to get fucked by someone who was not only the human embodiment of sex and sin, but also had such an impressive cock, had Sam turned on like a light switch.

“Ready, sweetie?” Dean purred with a mischievous smirk, moving his hands under the other’s knees and pushing them forward until they were nearly pressed against his shoulders, Sam blushing and glad he was still so agile, before nodding silently, too afraid for his voice to break or come out needy if he was to speak.

Dean’s smirk widened, turning predatory and wicked, and he slowly pulled his cock out until only the head remained, then pushed it back in just as excruciatingly slow. He continued moving in and out with long, drawn-out thrusts, making Sam whine in plaintive exasperation, brow furrowed in slightly frustrated impatience, because this was worse than if the man wouldn’t have been fucking him at all, and he was about to tell him to screw him or just stop, when Dean finally got bored of teasing him and picked up the pace, going from zero to one hundred in record time.

“Holy sh—” Sam screamed, his hands shooting up, one wrapping around the nape of the man’s neck while the other grasped his back and scraped at the soft skin in an intoxicating mix of splitting pain and humming pleasure. His body got rocked back and forth from the intensity of the thrusts, Dean pounding his ass with a vengeance, mercilessly and like a savage, not even letting him catch his breath. The thrusts just kept coming, over and over and over, the man setting an unforgivable pace and wrenching one loud moan after the other out of him. “Dean! Dean, oh f-fuck, Dean!” he keened pathetically, voice a thin and feeble string of vivid lust, and just kept moaning, the feel as the other nailed his prostate with nearly each snap of his hips, as the amazing cock was buried balls deep in him and kept impaling him just too good, too much. Amongst his wanton mewls were Dean’s own sounds of pleasure, his loud groans, sweet curses and feral growls mixed with the obscene echoes of skin slapping against skin. Sam’s head was swimming with ecstasy, the smell of sweat and sex only riling him up, his back arching desperately and body trembling from violent shivers as Dean growled in his ear, then hissed and bit his jaw when he sank his nail in the other’s back.

They got more and more rough as the minutes trickled by. Kissing until their lips were bleeding, scratching and biting and screaming, gripping stronger—Sam was sure he’d have bruises all over his body after this—than necessary. He couldn’t have been certain, but it was also possible that his ass was bleeding a bit. And while he wasn’t new to rough and aggressive sex, this was different, much more ferocious, Dean’s wild thrusts actually making him tear up. But it was hot, and he could barely contain himself, high-pitched mewls along with needy whimpers and wretched moans escaping him as he got fucked into the floor, his very being thrumming with an intense, white-hot pleasure. He threw his head back, ignoring the way the wreath pressed into his scalp, and cried out as the man clamped his teeth down on his shoulders, on his neck and ears, biting so hard he almost broke the skin, Sam shaking and shuddering uncontrollably, hands grasping and scraping in search of some flesh to hold on to, blunt nails raking across Dean’s back and making the man get even more vicious, if that was possible.

Hot tears were welling up in his eyes and tricking down his face, close to his temples, as Dean fucking broke him, hollowed him out until his mind was completely blank and filled him up until he felt like he was going to burst, and it was too much, he was aching all over and felt pretty close to fainting, so he kind of snapped. With a weak little whine, he pressed his hands against the other’s shoulders and pushed, just needing a second to pick up his scattered brain cells or something, just a moment of rest, but instead of agreeing to the unspoken request, Dean slapped his hands away and caught Sam completely off-guard by grabbing his throat, his eyes wide and suddenly panic-stricken as he looked into the other’s famished and cruel, almost sadistically so ones.

“C’mon, baby,” Dean drawled enticingly, tightening his grip around the other’s throat, firm hand fitting perfectly between Sam’s chin and the necklace. “Don’t ruin the fun just yet… We’re getting to the best part now.” He grinned nastily, an alarming Cheshire cat grin, and kept his hand on the other’s throat as he continued fucking him roughly.

Sam gasped for air, clawing at the gloved hand around his neck, but his efforts to get rid of the weight threatening to crush his windpipe were fruitless, and then he couldn’t even try to remove the hand as Dean’s other hand came shooting forward and took a hold of his wrists, pinning them above his head. At this point, he was too weak to protest or struggle too much, though he tried his best, but it evidently wasn’t enough. He made some interesting sounds you’d only hear from a dying man, mouth opening and closing frantically and body thrashing in alarm, his vision slowly beginning to darken from the lack of oxygen. Dean was strangling him. He was strangling him while fucking him like a beast, putting all of his weight on the hand around Sam’s throat as he rammed into him, hips angled to nail his prostate with each thrust, and it was the most overwhelming feeling ever.

He was floating in black honey, in a syrupy and sweet ocean of sensations, and even though the water was high in the sky, it felt as if he was sinking. Up and down, in the clouds and underwater, euphoria and fear. Sam couldn’t see or hear anymore, just blurred shapes with dark edges and muffled, gong-like sounds, and his face felt incredibly hot and like it was going to blow up from some sort of pressure. Then he could hear again, the gongs intensifying, Sam realizing that the buzzing he was hearing in his ears was his heartbeat, and then he floated around for a while longer, making some sort of distant choking sounds, before something pure exploded in him, and for a moment, he swore he could see the universe.

Somewhere in the very back of his mind he was aware of Dean ripping he bracelet off of his cock, of Dean’s fingers tightening around his throat before vanishing, of Dean’s cock hitting his prostate dead-on, and then as if he was yanked out of a confusing dream back into reality, Sam gasped and screamed in extreme pleasure as he came, orgasm slamming through him like a train and leaving his hips convulsing and body trembling with spasms of overpowering rapture. Incapable of forming words, he just mewled loudly like a broken record, holding onto the other as his eyes rolled back, feeling something hot land on his stomach as he came untouched, then only a few moments later he was moaning hopelessly again as Dean’s fingers dug into his waist, the man’s hips stuttering, thrusts becoming erratic, and then he was coming as well, filling Sam with hot spurts of come and earning a little sob from him.

He could feel Dean’s come deep inside him, whimpering as the other kept fucking him, though slower now, both of them too exhausted to do much, and then it wasn’t long before the man just stopped and collapsed on top of him, spent and sated. Panting and enjoying the afterglow, they lay there for a long while, Sam wrapping his legs around the other’s waist and his arms around his back, stroking it lightly, while Dean nuzzled him, planting soft kisses and nibbling on his neck.

“Mm, how was that?” the man purred into his ear after a while, lapping at it, and Sam let out a whimpery exhale, shivering.

“Not bad…I guess,” he muttered, then rolled his eyes when Dean pulled back and raised his eyebrows at him skeptically. “Okay, fine. It was pretty good.” He groaned as the other cocked his head. “It was fuckin’ awesome, there!”

Dean grinned triumphantly and pecked his lips. “Of course it was. You get awesome sex from an awesome man,” he said confidently with a wink, then rolled his hips teasingly, Sam moaning quietly because the other’s dick was still in him. “Told you you’d love it, but I guess it was pretty fun watching you trying to resist, too.”

“Oh go and screw yourself. You couldn’t have known from the start that we’d end up,” he paused to gestured between them, “like this. Not even I did.”

“That’s because you’re stupid,” he said with a simple, sweet smile and kissed Sam’s nose. “I know that I always get what I set my eyes on, what I really want. Nothing can stop me from getting my hands on it; from owning it.”

Sam rolled his eyes again. “Your ego is a work of art.” Then he frowned at the other, curious. “But why? Why did you…you know.”

“Why did I fuck you?” Dean asked, almost sounding surprised, and he nodded. “Well, first of all, why not? Plus it’s been a while since I fucked anyone, especially a guy. And you’re hot. Pretty sure you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, except for the guy in the mirror,” he said and grinned smugly, Sam tempted to snort but was instead blushing a little, especially when the man’s eyes turned serious and rather candid. “I don’t know you, but from what I’ve seen, I can’t find anything wrong with you. I wanted to have you as soon as I saw you, knew that I had to make you mine or else someone else would. And I’m not the sharing type.”

He chewed on his bottom lip for a silent second, then tentatively brushed his thumb along the other’s own lips. “Well…yeah. You’re really good looking, and I also…wanted to, well, wanted you to fuck me,” he admitted finally, but frowned upon remembering something. “Not this violently, though. The hell was the deal with strangling me, huh?”

“It’s called breathplay, darling,” Dean informed with a shrug and a charming smile. “Kinky and fun, which you can’t deny, not with how hard you came from it.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but yeah, he did probably experience the most intense orgasm in his life, so Dean did have a point. “You could’ve at least warned me first. I nearly got a heart attack, and that wouldn’t have been all that fun,” he huffed reproachfully, to what the other just shrugged again and moved his hand to Sam’s neck, trailing his fingers along what was probably the outlines of a bruise forming.

“But you didn’t,” the man stated, rubbing Sam’s throat, then smirked at him. “So, you gonna let me go? Or still insist on turning me over to the police.”

Scowling, he thought about it. “You are the Phantom Inferno,” he said slowly, “a wanted criminal.”

“I haven’t killed anyone. I’m not that bad of a guy,” he reasoned.

“Yeah, well, you could be a rapist,” Sam pointed out, and the other laughed.

“Sure, if you would’ve hated it, which you obviously did not.” Dean gently stroked a thumb over his windpipe. “Any other suggestions?”

Sam sighed inwardly. This man was a burglar, and he was a security guard. Letting Dean go was the last thing he should do. Well, no, having sex with him would be, but resisting didn’t quite work out, did it? So he should at least do one thing right. This was only just a one-time thing anyway. Sam wouldn’t see him ever again, so it didn’t matter if Dean was walking around or sitting behind bars. As in he needed to call this in, no matter what happened in the past hour.

“Sorry,” he stated, gaze hardening and resolve reluctantly strengthening as he looked at the other. “You’re going to jail for what you’ve done, and what happened between us won’t change that.”

Dean didn’t appear too fazed by that; in fact, he was grinning, which couldn’t have been a good sign. “Ah, I thought you’d say that. What a shame. And here I thought we could go to my place for round two,” he said with visibly faked dejection, before kissing Sam’s cheek. “Well then.” He winked. “See you later.”

“Wha—” he began, confused, but suddenly the gloved fingers on his throat dug into his tender flesh on either side of his windpipe, pressing forcefully, and a wave of dark nausea washed over him, Sam raising his hands and trying to push Dean away but, once again, his reaction time was too delayed. Unconsciousness came rushing toward him and dragging him down, his vision darkening, the last thing he saw before fainting being a pair of glowing, alluring emerald eyes, and a devious smirk.

-

 

When he came to, he had a terrible headache, and Dean was gone.

Just perfect.

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples and swallowing with a grimace of slight pain. His neck hurt too, and he could still somewhat feel the other’s finger on his throat, so not that much time must’ve passed. Maybe a few minutes.

“Fucking jerk,” he growled under his breath as he looked down at himself, still naked and with dried come sticking to his stomach. Dean was planning for this. He knew that Sam wouldn’t let him leave, and caressed his throat not because he was being sweet, but because he was an evil asshole who was planning on knocking him out. He should’ve known, damn it. But he didn’t, and now the Phantom Inferno had escaped, once again, without anyone being able to stop him.

Sighing, he glared at the bracelet on his wrist, a bit surprised that the jewelry that Dean had put on him were still here. Did he really mean it when he said they were presents? No, it didn’t matter, because Sam couldn’t keep them anyway. He’d just put them back and not think about how one of them was totally around his cock. Yep.

He took them off one by one, then after a moment of scrambling around and picking up the flashlight, he found his clothes and put them on, his face not burning with the power of a thousand suns. He had sex with Dean, a mysterious criminal. Rough, kinky, bloody and definitely bruising sex; and honestly, he loved every second of it. But that was it, he wouldn’t see the man ever again, which wasn’t such a bad thing, of course it wasn’t… But maybe it was, and Sam was regretting letting the other get away. Cursing himself and shaking his head, congrats Sam, what a great time to make up your mind on what you truly want, he pulled a face as he slid the discarded baton back in its holster on his hip, before returning each jewelry where he remembered them being displayed, then headed back to the security room with a heavy heart, preparing his explanatory speech on what happened. He still had to call the police, after all, because the holes in the glasses were there, and a lot of other jewelry were missing.

Sam flopped down into his chair with a huff, followed by a wince and a pained groan because, right, his ass was sore and aching. He grunted and narrowed his eyes at the monitors, then nearly gasped as he remembered something and pressed a button, rewinding the tape on one of the screens, and just as he thought, there it was.

Sam looked weird as a pale blue ghost on the screen, but Dean somehow managed to look sexy even like that. Everything happened so much faster than how he recalled—the man advancing on him and then snatching the baton from him, Sam falling to the floor and struggling, Dean touching and fingering him, using the baton on him, then decorating him with the stolen jewelry before fucking him. He felt his face heat up as he watched them having sex on the screen, raising a hand and pressing it against his mouth in amazed shock. Damn, he looked like he loved it. He couldn’t hear himself, thank god, but he could see how he was writhing in pleasure, parting his lips in silent screams and moans, clinging to Dean with a face twisted in pleasure, desperate and needy. He also looked pretty damn embarrassing in all that jewelry, like some sad drag queen. The sex lasted quite long, and by the end Sam had a clear tent in his pants, but he tried not to think how he got hard from watching himself getting fucked, and instead focused on the next events unfolding on the screen. After Dean pinched the arteries in his neck and rendered him unconscious, he pulled out of Sam, got up and put himself back in his pants, before reattaching the webbing to his body. Pulling the hood back over his head, instead of walking out of the room, the man first wandered over to Sam’s pants and pulled something out, then went back to his limp body and knelt down to press a kiss on his forehead, before finally leaving the building through one of the windows.

Sam touched his forehead, feeling like some freaking teenage girl, then furrowed his brow and stood up, checking his pockets for what Dean took from him. “Oh, come on!” he exclaimed in frustration when he realized that bastard took his wallet. Trust a burglar to steal his heart, then his money.

He grumbled quietly for a while, pacing around the small room, then glared at the monitors and deleted tonight’s tapes, knowing that he shouldn’t, because it had evidence on the Phantom Inferno, but… Well, they were caught having sex on it, so. And yes, sure, he could’ve just deleted that part and left the rest of it for the police, but he didn’t, end of subject.

Reaching for the phone on the corner of the desk, he hesitantly dialed 911, feeling a heavy stone on his heart and a knot in his stomach as he told them about a possible burglary in The World of the Weird and Wonderful, regretting his decision more than anything—but that was because he didn’t know yet that when he’d go home, he would find his wallet along with a golden bridal choker and a letter on his bed, describing what Dean was planning on doing to him from now on in great detail, and that instead of losing the man, he would become his lover.

Sam was in for a big surprise, one that would change his life forever, and in the best way possible.

 


End file.
